


so i won't be afraid (of anything ever again)

by It-is-the-Hannah (carry_on_my_wayward_outcasts)



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Crying, Daisy Basira and Melanie also make appearances but they don't really get any lines, Fluff, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, The Admiral - Freeform, minor mentions of blood/injury, patching each other's wounds trope, very minor spoilers through MAG 163
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2020-04-21
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:21:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23766829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carry_on_my_wayward_outcasts/pseuds/It-is-the-Hannah
Summary: In which they save the world, and get their happy ending.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 6
Kudos: 92





	so i won't be afraid (of anything ever again)

**Author's Note:**

> Listen I have a lot of emotions and I just want to pretend that everything is going to be okay  
> It's really just Jon and Martin being extremely Soft with each other after fixing everything  
> Hope you like it!

It was raining. 

Martin’s first thought when he realized this was,  _ of course it’s raining, it’s London, why would I expect anything less?  _ His second thought-- after actually opening his eyes and taking in the surroundings, the gray cobblestoned streets he laid on, the faint sounds of the city at night, the smoking crater that had been the Institute-- was a giddy  _ we did it. _

And then he remembered what they had had to do to fix the world, and in a panic, shouted his third thought aloud-- “ _ Jon! _ ”, frantically bolting upright to look for the other man before doubling over with a groan when the pain in his head caught up with him in a wave. Through the haze of agony and nausea, he faintly registered a hand on his arm, another stroking through his hair, and a soft voice--

“Everything’s okay, you’re okay, lay back down, Martin.” The man wrapped Martin’s name around his lips like it was a precious thing, and Martin allowed himself to be guided into laying with his head on the man’s lap, because he would know that voice anywhere. His head throbbed marginally less now that he was horizontal once more, and he blinked up at Jon, checking him over for injuries and finding only a few scrapes and bruises on top of the old familiar scars. 

“You’re okay?” Jon nodded, smiling softly down at him. 

“I’m okay. You, on the other hand, seem to have a concussion.” Martin, still faintly nauseous and hurting, thought that was probably true.

“Small price to pay for saving the world, right?” Jon didn’t say anything to that, just stroked shakily through Martin’s hair. “You’re sure you’re alright?”

“I’m sure.”

“And it definitely worked?” Jon nodded. The quiet pattering of the rain, the scent of it on the concrete, comforting in a way that nothing had managed to be for the long time it had taken them to make it to London, was enough to confirm it for both of them.

“Yes. As far as I can tell-- yes. It worked.” Martin raised a clumsy hand up to Jon’s face, gently wiping at the tears that had started leaking down his cheeks, mixing with the ash and blood and rain. 

“Why are you crying, then?” Jon looked rather startled, as if he hadn’t realized that he  _ was  _ crying, before leaning into the touch of Martin’s fingers with a broken laugh.

“I suppose I just didn’t think we would both survive this.”

“But we did.” 

“We did.” Jon smiled down at him through his tears. “We really did it, Martin.” Martin tugged him down for a kiss, unable to form the words to say what he wanted to, and instead attempting to convey it all through that simple contact-- the relief that it was finally over, the grief for all they had lost to get there, the beautiful, bittersweet joy of life, of finally getting to find out what comes after all the trauma and pain and fear. How much he loved Jon, and how wondrous it was to know that he was loved in return. 

When they pulled back to breathe, they barely separated, Jon resting his forehead against Martin’s, their faces wet from the tears and the rain, as they breathed each other in. 

They stayed like that for a long time. 

Eventually, of course, they had to move, if only to get out of the rain. 

It was slow going, what with Martin’s concussion and Jon’s sprained ankle that he didn’t even know about until he tried to stand up and almost immediately collapsed, not to mention all the little aches and pains that come along with living in an apocalypse world for who knows how long. Martin hadn’t noticed how much he  _ hurt,  _ before, hopped up on adrenaline as he had been for so long, but he was certainly noticing now. Jon didn’t say anything about it as they made their way through the damp streets, avoiding shell-shocked people slowly coming out of their homes, but Martin could tell from the clench of his jaw that he was in just as much pain. Probably more, actually, considering how tightly he had been bound to the Eye before they severed the connection with the explosion, but Jon had never been one to admit weakness, and Martin didn’t really have it in him to ask just yet. 

They were alive. The world was safe. That was all that mattered at the moment. The rest could wait until they made it to Georgie and Melanie’s flat, the agreed-upon rendezvous for once everything was fixed. 

They had met up with the others shortly after making it to what had passed for London during the apocalypse. Martin had been worried that they would find only bodies, instead of their friends, but when they came across the twisted version of the flat all was as well as could be hoped for. Georgie, with her inability to feel fear, was holding the rest of them together as much as she could, keeping the outside world at bay and keeping those inside from doing anything terrible. Basira and Daisy, still connected to the Institute, had their minds more or less intact, mostly getting nondescript waves of everyone else’s fear in a twisted version of Jon’s own ailment. Daisy was struggling with the Hunt, of course, but she managed to keep it in check enough to direct her instincts outwards towards anything trying to attack them. Melanie, having long-since severed her connection with the Institute, had been the worst off-- trapped in that comatose state of fear that so many were. Martin could tell Jon had known what she was experiencing the way he knew everyone’s nightmares, but he kept it to himself, even when Georgie asked. 

They had rested from their journey there for some time while they planned for the final attack. Georgie had wanted to come with them, but Jon shut her down. He had wanted to go in alone, but obviously Martin wasn’t going to let  _ that  _ happen, either, so in the end it had been the two of them off to save the world with a promise to Georgie that they would return if everything actually worked. 

None of them had really thought that promise would be kept.

The steps up to the flat were somehow the hardest ones of the whole journey. It felt wrong, in a way, to actually go inside and accept that yes, they had done it, they saved everyone and came out the other side without losing each other or themselves. 

Any hesitation, any desire to double check and make sure that everything was  _ actually  _ fixed before they accepted the win was quickly squashed as Georgie flung open the door and pulled them inside as soon as Jon knocked.

“ _ You did it. _ You actually did it, you bastards.” She was crying, and hugging the both of them, and though Martin was trying valiantly not to wince as she inadvertently squeezed some of his bruises, he apparently didn’t do a good enough job as she quickly pulled back to look them over. “I checked, the first aid kit reappeared when everything else went right again, it’s in the bathroom if you two want to go patch yourselves up.” They both nodded wearily, emotionally wiped out and already settling into the adrenaline crash.

“Georgie? Is that them?” Basira’s voice could be heard from the living room, “Did they both make it?” Georgie led them in, and they were greeted by tired smiles from Daisy and Basira from where they were lying on the couch. Melanie, curled up in the armchair opposite, appeared to be asleep, which Martin did not begrudge her with all she had been through. Daisy stood up to greet them as Georgie went over to nudge Melanie awake long enough to tell her the news. 

“You’re alive, then.” Daisy’s voice was curt as she scanned them both.

“You are as well,” Jon noted in the same tone, and then suddenly they were hugging. Martin moved back to allow them their moment, and nearly stepped on the Admiral, who had appeared out of nowhere to nose against his legs. The fluffy ginger cat had been hiding under the bed for the entirety of the time they had preciously spent here, caught up in whatever the cat version of a fear landscape was, but he seemed no worse for wear for his experience. Martin bent down to scoop him into his arms, ignoring the pounding in his head at the change in angle, and the Admiral purred happily at him to be held. 

Jon turned around at the noise. 

“Admiral!” He buried his fingers in the soft fur, and though he didn’t make a show of it, Martin could tell he was crying again. Basira cleared her throat. 

“I want to hear everything about what you did to fix all of this, but I think you’re getting blood on the carpet. You two should go clean up.” Martin hadn’t realized either of them were still bleeding, and from the look on Jon’s face, he hadn’t either. Well, shock  _ was _ a hell of a drug. He put the cat down carefully, concerned that he might be getting blood on him, too, without realizing it.

“We all need some rest, as well. It’s been a hell of a-- however long it’s been. I’ll make up the guest bedroom for you two, and Daisy and Basira, are you two still alright with the pullout?” The other women nodded at Georgie. Jon looked like he was about to protest the very concept of resting for even a moment, but Martin’s hand on his arm, grounding him, made him back down, and instead of bristling he sighed and settled. 

“Thank you, Georgie. You said the first aid kit’s in the bathroom?” 

“Same place it always was when you stayed with me before everything. Cabinet, top shelf. It’s still pretty well-stocked.” 

They bid everyone good night and went to clean up properly. With the safety of a door in between them and the rest of the flat, the rest of the world, surrounded by the cheerful mundanity of the bathroom, with its toothbrushes on the sink and brightly colored hair ties scattered on the shelf by the bathtub, Martin suddenly felt the weight of everything hit him at once. 

“Martin? Are you alright?” Jon’s worried voice came from somewhere next to him, scarred hands softly guiding him to sit on the soft bath mat, back pressed against the tub, as he cried. “What’s wrong?” Martin hitched a great, gasping sob, pressing his own hands to his eyes.

Jon’s earlier crying had been a quiet, gentle, thing, but Martin’s tears were a hurricane, shaking his shoulders and stealing his breath. He managed to babble out enough of an explanation to reassure Jon that nothing had gone wrong, he was just overwhelmed with it all, but he could do nothing against the raging tide of emotion other than riding it out. 

Jon held him while he cried, arms wrapped around his shoulders and the length of him pressed close to Martin’s side so that he could feel his steady breathing, as he murmured quiet reassurances into Martin’s hair. It took a while, but the flood eventually slowed, and then stopped, as Martin cried himself out. Eventually, he was fully coherent enough to be faintly embarrassed about the whole thing. 

“I’m sorry, I don’t know why I broke down like that--” Jon shushed him. 

“It was going to happen sometime. I imagine I’ll do the same, at some point, and it wouldn’t surprise me if everyone else does, as well.”

“I can’t imagine Daisy crying,” Martin joked, and Jon laughed.

“No, I can’t really either, but I’m sure she’ll have her own version.” He sobered, “We’ve all just gone through some serious trauma. It’s to be expected.”

“Our therapy bills are going to be through the roof.” Jon laughed again, and Martin’s heart thrilled at the sound.

“Do you think therapists are even going to have openings, with the whole world coming back from this? We’ll just have to join a support group.” Martin grimaced at the thought. He’d never been one for groups, even before the Lonely.

“I mean, who knows what the rest of the world is going to remember about the whole thing? It might just feel like a bad dream to anyone not connected with an entity.” 

Jon hummed in thought. “If we should only be so lucky.” 

“The Admiral seems to be doing alright, at least.” That earned him a smile. 

“He’s a good cat.” Jon shifted, accidentally pressing against a few bruises and making the both of them wince. “Christ, we still need to actually clean up.” 

“Can’t we just deal with it in the morning?” Martin’s crying session had managed to exhaust him more than he already was.

“I would like to, but we still don’t know which one of us was bleeding on the carpet, earlier. And you ought to take something for your head, at the very least.” Martin had to admit that was sensible, no matter how much he wanted to just crawl into bed and forget everything for a while.

Luckily, Georgie’s first aid kit was just as well stocked as she had said, with pain killers and ace bandages and Mickey Mouse themes plasters that Martin took great joy in applying to the smaller cuts scattered across Jon’s body. It turned out that the dripping blood had come from Martin himself, and the tenderness with which Jon cleaned and bandaged the gash on his shin made him want to burst into tears all over again. Marin took the same amount of care when wrapping Jon’s sprained ankle, and from the look on the other man’s face it seemed that it affected him just as much. 

Neither of them was up for taking a shower, so they found a few washcloths in the closet and helped each other wipe the worst of the ash and blood and grime from their skin, sitting on the edge of the bathtub in boxers and undershirts. It was intimate in a way they hadn’t really had time for in the cabin, before everything went wrong, and sponging away a line of dirt from just above Jon’s eye, Martin realized that they had all the time in the world for this, now. There was nothing left to run from, and the world didn’t need any more saving, and they were going to be able to have more of this, of these quiet moments. 

It was an overwhelming thought, and it must have shown on his face, as Jon’s brow furrowed beneath his fingertips. 

“What’re you thinking about?” Martin shrugged, working at a spot of blood on Jon’s jaw with his cloth. 

“Just the future.”

“What about it?”

“That we get one, I guess.” Jon’s face did something odd, then, and Martin paused to look at him properly. “What?”

“I-- hadn’t actually let myself think about that, yet.” Martin laughed.

“Is it a bad thing?” Jon shook his head, a smile slowly dawning on his face.

“No, Martin.” He gently cupped Martin’s face in his hand. “It’s not a bad thing at all.” Martin grinned back at him as Jon leaned in close, and then they were kissing, sweet and slow and saying all the things they couldn’t quite say yet. It felt like the calm at the end of the storm, it felt like a new beginning, it felt like a promise of thousands of days to come, each just as filled with love as this moment. 

A future. That was what they had been fighting at a chance for for so long, and now they had it in their sights. It was so large, so unknown, that it was almost on the level of any of the actual terrors they had faced, but upon thinking about it, Martin wasn’t actually afraid, anymore. They had stared down so many demons and come out on the other side, they had made it here, holding onto one another tightly and refusing to let go, even when the world tried to tear them apart. There was still work to do, trauma to sort out and broken lives to build back up, but whatever came next, they could deal with it, together. Hell, they might even have a chance at happiness. 

They pulled back only slightly to rest their foreheads together, hands clasped between their bodies. Outside, the rain began to let up, just in time for the morning sunlight to start peaking though the bathroom window, setting them awash in gold.

They were going to be okay.

It was over. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Leave kudos/comments/come cry with me about TMA on tumblr @it-is-the-hannah if you liked it!  
> Title is from 1 John 4:16 by The Mountain Goats, a song that spawned this fic when I was crying listening to it at like 2 in the morning and thinking about Jonathan Sims (as you do)  
> Love y'all, stay safe!  
> We can all have little a comfort, as a treat.


End file.
